


Tears and Mourning

by beargirl1393



Series: Songfics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, M/M, Suicide, Unrequited Love, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beargirl1393/pseuds/beargirl1393
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two songfics I wrote for the 'let's write Sherlock challenge #3'.  They are unrelated and based on two different songs, but I didn't see the sense in posting them separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teardrops on My Violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock watches John and his heart breaks a little more each time John tells him about how in love he is with his girlfriend.  
> Implied John/OC, unrequited Sherlock/John.  
> Song is "Teardrops on my Guitar" by Taylor Swift.

_Drew looks, at me,_

_I fake a smile so he won’t see,_

_What I want and I need_

_And everything that we should be._

Sherlock gives John a small smile so that he won’t worry and leaves the restaurant. It’s becoming progressively harder to look him in the face and not tell him everything.

_I’ll be she’s beautiful,_

_That girl he talks about,_

_And she’s got everything_

_That I have to live without._

Sherlock hates her. He’s never met her, not yet, but he hates her more than he hated all the others. It was so simple to chase them away. They saw that John was his, something even John hadn’t noticed, and they left because of it. The newest one hasn’t left yet, and he’s beginning to think that she never will. She has realized just how precious John is, and so she is holding on tight. Sherlock hates her with everything he has, because she has what he covets but can never have.

_Drew talks, to me,_

_I laugh ‘cause it’s so damn funny._

_But I can’t even see,_

_Anyone when he’s with me._

Sometimes Sherlock feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat, especially when John will make a reference to his heartlessness and general disgust of the softer emotions. The fool man hasn’t realized that Sherlock despises love because he knows how impossible it is to live with a love unrequited. His heartlessness stems from the fact that he knows all too well the pain of a broken heart. John hasn’t realized that Sherlock’s disregard for others is because he can’t be bothered to pay attention to them while John is with him.

_He says he’s so in love;_

_He’s finally got it right._

_I wonder if he knows_

_He’s all I think about at night._

Sometimes Sherlock wonders what John would do if he knew. All he talks about these days is how much he loves this one, how he thinks she is the one for him. Sherlock wonders what John would do if he knew that his sleepless nights are spent thinking about John, wishing that he could confess his feelings and knowing how impossible that is. John has yet to work out the true reason for his black moods these days, and Sherlock longs to tell him.

_He’s the reason for the teardrops on my guitar;_

_The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star._

_He’s the song, in the car, I keep singing,_

_Don’t know why I do._

His violin has always been his solace. Whenever life became too much, when he thought of turning back to the drugs to calm his restless mind, he would play. When he needed to think, he would often play some of the pieces that he knew the best, that he could play without sparing a moment’s thought, giving him a way to relax and turn the pieces of the puzzle about in his mind. Now, his violin is played anytime he isn’t out on a case or actively solving one. It is his voice and his emotional outlet, letting out the words he cannot say and shedding the tears he cannot cry. John never notices who the piece is about, merely commenting on how sad it sounds if he can be bothered to notice at all. He’s not musically inclined and most music sounds the same to him. He doesn’t know that the sad music is for him, has always been for him.

_Drew walks, by me,_

_Can he tell that I can’t breathe?_

_And there he goes, so perfectly;_

_The kind of flawless I wish I could be._

There has always been something about John. He’s so ordinary, yet so extraordinary that it boggles Sherlock’s mind. He hasn’t noticed that Sherlock’s breath catches in his chest when their fingers touch when John passes him a cup of tea. He hasn’t noticed how often people are correct in assuming that they are a couple, if only in Sherlock’s mind. Many will say that Sherlock is handsome, but Sherlock would reply that John is flawless.

_She better hold him tight,_

_Give him all her love,_

_Look in those beautiful eyes_

_And know she’s lucky ‘cause_

John’s eyes have always held Sherlock transfixed. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and that was never truer than in John Watson’s case. All of his emotions, all of his thoughts, would flash in his eyes. Sherlock hopes that, if nothing else, that she will know how lucky she is to have him.

_He’s the reason for the teardrops on my guitar,_

_The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star._

_He’s the song, in the car, I keep singing,_

_Don’t know why I do._

Sometimes, he wonders if it wouldn’t be better to break it off now. John has his locum work; he could afford a flat on his own between that and his army pension. Every time he thinks this, and it’s not often, he thinks of how boring his life would be without John and holds his tongue. Soon, all too soon, he will lose John, and so he won’t do anything to chase him into her arms any faster. So he sits, on his sleepless nights while John is safely snoring upstairs, and gives into the tears he cannot show in daylight.

_So I’ll drive home alone._

_As I turn out the light,_

_I’ll put his picture down and maybe get some sleep tonight._

After the murderer was carted off to the Yard, John got a text from her. She wanted to see him. He left, leaving Sherlock to hail a cab alone and head to Baker Street on his own. Perhaps tonight will be better. John won’t be in the flat, and it’s time to begin to adjust to that. Soon, he will be the only one living there. He’ll sit and play his violin and pray for a sleep without dreams. Sometimes he thinks his dreams are his greatest trial. A thousand times John has confessed to loving him, and a thousand times the image is gone when he wakes.

_‘Cause he’s the reason for the teardrops on my guitar,_

_The only one that’s got enough of me to break my heart._

_He’s the song, in the car, I keep singing,_

_Don’t know why I do._

Even now, with Moriarty attempting to sully his name, Sherlock’s only worry is for John. Moriarty claimed he was going to burn out his heart, and Sherlock knows what that means even if John is clueless. John is his best friend, his closest companion, and the only person Sherlock has been able to tolerate for more than a few minutes. John holds Sherlock Holmes heart in his hands, whether he is aware of it or not.

_He’s the time, taken up,_

_But there’s never enough,_

_And he’s all that I need to fall into._

So many times, he has delayed taking a case because John wouldn’t be able to join him. So many times, when John had left to visit his sister and Sherlock was left alone, he would wait up for John. Whenever he was due back, no matter how much the case exhausted him, he would force himself to stay awake to talk to John. He would be tense after visiting Harry, who more likely than not had been drunk, and would need to talk. Sherlock would listen, covering up his concern for his flatmate with scathing commentary and usually making John laugh in the end. That is worth more to him than any amount of sleep.

_Drew looks at me,_

_I fake a smile so he won’t see._

Looking down, Sherlock sees John frozen where he asked him to stand. Tears stream down his face unchecked as he says goodbye, knowing that if his plan works that he will come back to find that he has chased John straight into her arms. That almost makes him hope that his plan fails, startling a laugh from him as John makes a joke. Whatever happens next, his feelings for John will be taken to the grave. He can never know.


	2. Just A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This all has to be a dream. It can't be real.  
> John/Sherlock, major character death, suicide, angst.  
> Song is "Just A Dream" by Carrie Underwood.

_It was two weeks after the day she turned eighteen_

_All dressed in white_

_Going to the church that night_

Sherlock kept his gaze focused out of the window of the black car that was taking him to the church. It was two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, the day he and John planned to marry. He smoothed out his suit, looking down at the pale blue shirt John had insisted matched his eyes before refocusing on the scenery. He’d see John soon.

_She had his box of letters in the passenger seat_

_Sixpence in a shoe, something borrowed, something blue_

Sherlock had felt ridiculous at first, but John had looked so cute as he suggested it, somehow seeming younger than eighteen going on nineteen, that Sherlock hadn’t been able to refuse. Something borrowed (Mycroft’s pocket watch) something blue (his shirt, John’s shirt, their eyes) sixpence in a shoe (odd custom but complied with, for both of them).

He also had every letter John had sent him while he was away, first at training and then overseas. He kept them all, rereading them, never getting tired of seeing proof of John’s love in front of him, never tiring of reading the funny things he could come up with, even in so sobering a situation.

_And when the church doors opened up wide_

_She put her veil down_

_Trying to hide the tears_

Sherlock kept his head bowed when he entered the church. It wouldn’t do to let anyone see the tears on his cheeks, not now. Later, John would think something was wrong if he saw Sherlock crying. Fool man hadn’t realized that Sherlock would only cry because of him.

_Oh she just couldn't believe it_

_She heard the trumpets from the military band_

_And the flowers fell out of her hand_

His grip on the small bouquet he carried slacked as he stared at the scene in front of him. He didn’t want to believe it, even now when the evidence was directly in front of him, but when the military band started he lost it. The flowers fell to the ground as he buried his face in his hands, unable to bear the sight of the coffin where John lay.

_Baby why'd you leave me_

_Why'd you have to go?_

‘Why did you leave me John?’ Sherlock thought, sobbing as he fell to his knees. ‘You promised we would be together forever. We would get married and live together and you would get out of the Army and we would solve crimes and you could be a doctor too and everything would have been perfect. Why did you have to leave?’

_I was counting on forever, now I'll never know_

_I can't even breathe_

_It's like I'm looking from a distance_

_Standing in the background_

_Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now_

‘You said we’d be together forever John,’ Sherlock thought, gasping for breath as he continued to sob. ‘Breathing’s boring. Who cares about breathing without John here? It feels so unreal, like this is someone else’s funeral and John will come in a minute and get me and scold me for gatecrashing. I’d give anything for that right now. Everyone is saying he’s not coming home.’

_This can't be happening to me_

_This is just a dream_

‘This isn’t real. I’m trapped in a nightmare, pre-wedding jitters. I’ll wake up any minute now and Mummy will be calling up for me to get ready so we’re not late getting to the church. John will laugh and hold me and tell me that even Sherlock Holmes can’t help but be nervous about his wedding day and we’ll laugh and this will all be just a stupid, stupid, dull, pointless dream!’

_The preacher man said let us bow our heads and pray_

_Lord please lift his soul, and heal this hurt_

_Then the congregation all stood up and sang the saddest song that she ever heard_

Sherlock watched numbly as the preacher asked everyone to pray with him, and then sing with him. He couldn’t think, his mind was strangely blank. He hadn’t gone to church other than when Mummy made him, and now…

Now he didn’t think his prayer would be answered, otherwise they wouldn’t be there in the first place and this would just be a dream.

The music washed over him and he idly noted that it was sad, very sad. He didn’t bother to try to identify what they sang, he just let it flow around him as he approached the coffin.

_Then they handed her a folded up flag_

_And she held on to all she had left of him_

_Oh, and what could have been_

He bent down and pressed his lips to John’s, ignoring what anyone would think or say. He put the bouquet of flowers (John’s favorites) that he had retrieved from the floor in-between his hands, squeezing them lightly. The coffin was closed, and draped with a flag. When they reached the cemetery they folded the flag, handing it to Sherlock.

He clutched it tightly; it was all he had left of John besides his letters. All he had left of the man who had been his best friend since he was four years old, and the man he had loved since he was sixteen. It was all he had left of what could have been their future.

_And then the guns rang one last shot_

_And it felt like a bullet in her heart_

He heard the guns ring out one last time, and he felt it as though they had shot him. As though he had been shot in the chest and was bleeding out, like John had. It felt like the bullet had lodged in his heart and wouldn’t move.

_Baby why'd you leave me_

_Why'd you have to go?_

_I was counting on forever, now I'll never know_

‘We said forever John. Why did you leave me when you promised you would stay? I counted on you staying forever. I made so many plans for us. Now, now I’ll never know if they would work. Would you want to give up the Army to help me with my detective business? Would you want to go back to school to finish studying to be a doctor? Would you still love me when we were old and grey?’

_I can't even breathe_

_It's like I'm looking from a distance_

_Standing in the background_

_Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now_

_This can't be happening to me_

_This is just a dream_

‘This isn’t happening. It is nothing but a horrible, horrible dream. This can’t be real. I am not watching them bury you John, I’m not! It’s not possible! You can’t die John, you promised me you wouldn’t die!’

_Oh,_

_Baby why'd you leave me_

_Why'd you have to go?_

_I was counting on forever, now I'll never know_

_Oh, now I'll never know_

‘Everyone else leaves John; you promised you were different than they were! You said we would be together forever, that you’d never leave me. I didn’t plan for anything else John, and I need a plan to follow. What am I supposed to do without you?’

_It's like I'm looking from a distance_

_Standing in the background_

_Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now_

_This can't be happening to me_

_This is just a dream_

Sherlock stayed in the graveyard until everyone else left, including the men who were tasked with burying John. He stayed, sitting on a bench until everyone left. It wasn’t possible that this was happening to him. He felt so removed from it all, as though it _had_ to be a dream, a hallucination, _anything_ other than reality, but he knew that it was real. It was real and it was happening and John wasn’t coming back. God, he needed to wake up.

_Oh, this is just a dream_

_Just a dream_

_Yeah, Yeah_

Sherlock looked at the small gun in his hand. ‘This is just a dream,’ Sherlock thought, loading a bullet into the chamber and flicking the safety off. ‘Just a dream.’ Dream or no, he was going to be with John. They had said forever, had promised forever. Sherlock wasn’t going to let that thought die.

‘Just a dream.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these fics will be added to my songfic collection, but since they were written specifically for this challenge, I posted them separately first.


End file.
